


Something

by msarahv



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Cheese, Eiffel Tower, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Paris (City)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 16:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3775195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msarahv/pseuds/msarahv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inside a restaurant, in Paris, in the middle of the day, is a foreign boy. He's tall but you can't see it because he's bent over his plate. It's hard to make out anything but it seems his face is covered in freckles. It's easier to check his eyes color as they are wide open in an emotionless expression, eyebrows arched, and they are green, pale and liquid, like the mint syrup you drank moments ago, maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something

Inside a restaurant, in Paris, in the middle of the day, is a foreign boy. He's tall but you can't see it because he's bent over his plate. It's hard to make out anything but it seems his face is covered in freckles. It's easier to check his eyes color as they are wide open in an emotionless expression, eyebrows arched, and they are green, pale and liquid, like the mint syrup you drank moments ago, maybe. He's pressing his hand on his mouth and it looks like he's gagging.

 

Now those gorgeous eyes are shut, the eyelids pressed by the frowning forehead. His nostrils want to escape up their own openings. His mouth is all curled up, like one of a pouting child who doesn't want to eat his vegetables.

 

But inside the plate, inside the restaurant, inside the city, there aren't any greens. No broccoli, no lettuce, not even a carrot (which is not green by the way), nothing to explain all of this.

 

The boy has managed to gulp down and he's yelling. Inside the restaurant, no one understands him. He's foreign you see and the others are not. They open their own eyes but they don't yell back, they're all too polite.

 

* * *

 

 

Inside the restaurant, there is another foreign boy. He's doubly so and he can speak many languages easily. He looks Russian and maybe he is. Or maybe his family was and he comes from exactly the same place as the yelling boy a few feet away from him. No one knows, including them, but he still has a look of concentration, as if he had already met the other boy. He hasn't.

 

Inside the throat of the first boy, something gives up as he tries to speak like Parisian do inside their country. He's alone and angry and the other boy stand up and join him. Inside the green-eyed boy, a heart is clenching, blood is pumping faster under the freckled skin. His name is Dean. It's such a foreign name, isn't it?

 

The newcomer is a magician. He can make the right words appear and everything is solved. His name is a conundrum, though. Dean can't pronounce it either. So he settles for Cas and it's all right.

 

The dish on the table is delicious white bread and disgusting cheese. One that stinks and make the other patrons in the restaurant sigh in pleasure. Dean is still alone, as even Cas likes the cheese. But he gets to change the order into a pie. Inside Dean's heart, there's gratitude and awe.

 

Cas has darker hair and his skin is uniform everywhere the eye can see. Which isn't much, which isn't enough, not for Dean anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

Inside the Catacombs, there are two figures, shrouded in dark, passing skeletons. A trick of the light makes us think their hands are linked but that can't be, can it?

 

On top of the Montmartre hill, two foreign boys are standing. The first boy is looking ahead, searching the buildings for beauty, the second boy doesn't need to search. He's turned to his right and his blue eyes are clear skies pointed at Dean.

 

Higher than that, there's a metal construction that gets thinner as it goes up. It has three stories, one frightening, one terrifying and one where one can cope. Cas has his arms around Dean, shielding him from the precipice he thinks he sees. Inside Dean's ear, Cas is whispering words to help and they do.

 

* * *

 

Next to a bench, two characters are fighting under a light drizzle. The sky is grey and Cas' eyes are cold. Dean's mouth is set and his eyes are full of rain too, but it doesn't last. He runs on the wet cobbles, along an old cathedral that has seen much worse.

 

Inside a bedroom, inside a hotel, inside the city of love, there's a chair. You can't see it properly because there's a coat on it. It's beige and outdated and it's been thrown on the furniture in haste.

 

Inside a bed, inside a country, that is abroad, there's a cushion. Or maybe one has to say pillow. It's wide enough for two which is useful. Inside two hearts there's a song. It will keep playing in an old car back in their home town, or at their wedding. For now, they say the words with their kisses and their whole bodies.

**Author's Note:**

> Note to self : remember to sleep at night. If by any stretch, one of you guys liked this, don't forget to kudo or comment. If you're nonplussed, just let it go and consider it a strange little trip in a sleepy mind...


End file.
